


blues and purple pink skies

by HackedByAWriter



Series: i turned our lives into folklore [1]
Category: Shubh Mangal Zyada Saavdhan (2020)
Genre: Based on a Taylor Swift Song, First Kiss, First Meetings, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Song: invisible string (Taylor Swift), Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:21:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25815706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HackedByAWriter/pseuds/HackedByAWriter
Summary: For Sai, this is for motivating us writers in the fandom to write more. For loving our works when we could not. For trolling and memeing us until kingdom come. I think I say this on behalf of everyone. We are grateful. Here is something I've been promising for a while. I hope you enjoy it.- SargunPS. I apologize if I accidentally start writing in Punjabi instead of Hindi. My Hindi is trash. Also, I rushed the end, but a promise is a promise.
Relationships: Kartik Singh/Aman Tripathi
Series: i turned our lives into folklore [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2059014
Comments: 30
Kudos: 38





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [slightlydeep_mostlyweird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/slightlydeep_mostlyweird/gifts).



> For Sai, this is for motivating us writers in the fandom to write more. For loving our works when we could not. For trolling and memeing us until kingdom come. I think I say this on behalf of everyone. We are grateful. Here is something I've been promising for a while. I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> \- Sargun
> 
> PS. I apologize if I accidentally start writing in Punjabi instead of Hindi. My Hindi is trash. Also, I rushed the end, but a promise is a promise.

Aman could still remember when he first talked to Kartik. Properly talked to him. It was not something he could easily forget. Kartik had been nineteen, a first year and Aman twenty, already two years into his major. 

They had seen each from a distance at the point, seen each other on campus at college. They knew each other's names through mutual friends. They often exchanged greetings and commented on trivial things. They were friends on Facebook too. Once Kartik had even dropped by to his dorm to hand him his wallet (which Aman had a habit of losing). But that had been the extent of their interactions. 

Though Aman admired him from a distance. Though he had thought him beautiful, kind and wild he had never suspected that one day, he would this man his and his alone.

_ Time _

_ Curious time _

_ Gave me no compasses _

_ Gave me no signs _

_ Were there clues I didn't see? _

Then Aman had been good friends with another kid called Yash. They both did the same degree. Both shared the same dorm. Aman had even developed a crush on him during their first year but that had been quickly blown over when Yash decided to talk non-stop about  _ his  _ crush Devika. 

Annoyance had won over any other feelings for Yash. 

Thinking back however Aman was glad of Yash’s irritating obsession with Devika. It had brought him to the party at Devika’s place and it had brought him closer to Kartik after all. Though he had not known it then.

“We’ll have a blast.” Yash had insisted. He had been trying to convince Aman to come with him for days. 

“I’d rather be writing my essay on the hypothalamus,” Aman had said. He had never been one for partying. Besides the essay had been due in two days and he had barely begun.

“Essay nu maro gohli, yaar. You never do anything fun.”

“Essay toh pehla, tenu gohli marni saale. Duffa ho hun.”

Somehow though, Yash had managed to extricate Aman away from his study table. Somehow he managed to make Aman change out of his comfortable pyjamas, into a pair of jeans and a clean shirt. Somehow Aman had relented to using his motorbike to travel to Devika’s house. He donned his favourite leather jacket too, the one Papa had gotten him when they gifted him the bike on his eighteenth. 

_ Time _

_ Mystical time _

_ Cutting me open, then healing me fine _

_ Were there clues I didn't see? _

Of course Kartik also remembered the first time he had properly talked to Aman. Kartik had not known it then but going to Devika’s party had been the best decision in his life. 

At first he had been merely bored. Though he liked parties, though he liked dancing (and yes maybe he liked drinking and occasionally getting high too) but talking to the same stupid people drained him. Sometimes he just wanted to close his eyes and let go for a while. Sometimes he wanted to just forget.

He had only been there because Devika had insisted. 

Beer in hand he had been looking out the window of Devika’s house doing just that. Trying to forget. Trying to wave off the demons that threatened. He remembered the view clearly, even now. It had not yet been evening and the colour of the sky, mottled with violent shades of purple pink and blue, reminding him of a bruise and he had seen plenty of those.

The signs of his father's last beating had left scars that had not yet healed. Scars of the mind, the soul, though the physical ones had long faded.

He had tried his best not to think of his father then but the memories always came. They never left him.

He was saved however that day from being fully in their thrall.

His saviour had come in the form of a motorbike-riding-scowling Aman Tripathi, in a dark leather jacket with Yash clinging on to him. Seeing him, against the bright backdrop of the bruised sky, was like applying a balm to a wound.

At that point in time Kartik had often spied him on campus at college. He often made an excuse to greet him, comment on his clothes, or remark on some trivial college issue. Kartik had even dropped by to his dorm to hand him his wallet when Aman had left it in the library. 

Though his interactions with the second-year had been scant, Kartik was was irrevocably in love (more often than not Devika would tell him to shut up and just talk to him anytime Kartik would ramble for more than ten minutes about how perfect Aman was).

Kartik could have sworn the grip on his beer had noticeably tightned when Yash and Aman came into the room. Kartik could have sworn, years after, that their eyes had connected instantly. 

Aman has beautiful eyes. Eyes that he wouldn’t mind losing himself in.

He wanted more than anything to talk strike a conversation with him, even if it was just to hear the sound of his voice. 

Somehow he had managed it. 

Later in life he would say that there had been a thread that connected them. An invisible thread that he had followed, like Jason had the thread out of the maze after killing the minotaur, a thread that had led him home. A thread that had led him to safety. A thread that led him to salvation.

He had tried to think of what to say to Aman, tried to think of something that would impress him. But it had been Aman who spoke first.

“I like your sweater.”

_ Chains around my demons _

_ Wool to brave the seasons _

_ One single thread of gold tied me to you _

Kartik had been wearing a cream wool sweater. It was his favourite sweater, his comfort sweater. The sweater he wore after nightmares, the sweater that had been there to embrace him when no one else could. He had thrown it on, half asleep, that afternoon. The nightmares had left him ravaged. At that time he had never even dreamed of seeking help. He had thought it a weakness. He had not taken it off since. For one, it had been the only thing that had been clean, the other for today, at least, he did not feel safe without it. 

He had felt vulnerable again under Aman’s gaze. But it was not the terrible vulnerability that he knew too well. It was the vulnerability you felt, thirteen years old, barefoot in a hemlock grove, ready to kiss your first love in the light of the setting sun. He had been acutely aware at that moment that he wasn’t wearing much else underneath the sweater.

But he smiled nonetheless. As always his damned mouth spoke before his mind could reel it in. 

“I like your face,” he had cursed himself mentally for saying that, for outing himself so soon. “I only meant-”

“I like yours too,” Aman had said quickly, joking. “And your tattoos.”

Aman had smiled then pointing at the Shiv tattoo on Kartik’s arm. Kartik remembered mumbling something about the significance. He was not sure what he said he had been too distracted by Aman’s smile.A beautiful smile. A smile that sloughed away the last remnants of the scowl he had sported when coming in. 

Of course though they had been too stupid then to realise the true meaning behind each other’s words. In short they thought the other was joking. And why wouldn’t they? The year was 2014 and you could still be hanged in some states for being in love with someone you should not. 

Kartik had remembered trying to rack his brains for something more worthwhile. “I hope you haven’t lost your wallet again.”

“I never said thank you for that,” admitted Aman.

In truth Kartik had ran off as soon as he handed Aman his wallet. Too afraid to speak to his crush. But he would not admit to that.

He should not have been afraid. He knew that now. Aman was easy to talk to. They talked about everything and anything. They talked about books, TV series and movies (it turned out they both had an undying passion for Sholay). They ended up talking about their childhoods and families.

Kartik was not sure how it came to it but in the end they started talking about their families. Of course Kartik had left out all the bad stuff. He painted a rosy picture of Punjab, a picture of his family before his mother had died. Before the beatings had started. 

He did not let himself focus on it for long, instead he plied Aman with questions of his own. Questions which Aman readily answered.Aman told him about his own childhood, told him about Allahabad. About his mother’s amazing cooking, about his father’s agricultural science experiments, about his cousin Keshav and his iPad, about his other cousin Goggle who was an absolute force of nature. He learned about Aman’s crazy Chachi and his Chacha who failed law school but was easily the funniest man alive. 

Kartik remembered thinking  _ I would do anything for a family like that.  _ Then he remembered thinking.  _ No not a family like his. I want his family. I want to be in Aman’s family. Damaad banke.  _ He never suspected then that his thoughts would prove prophetic.

They talked almost the whole night away. Ignoring the others, slowly exchanging bottles of beer between them. Aman had even felt comfortable enough showing him pictures from his first job at sixteen, at a yogurt and ice cream shop. He had been wearing a teal shirt in the picture. 

Devika had eventually embroiled them in a game of truth or dare, but when she had dared Kartik to kiss Aman, he had gracefully bowed out. He knew what she was trying to do. He appreciated her efforts, but at the same time he did not want to ruin anything with Aman.

“It’s time we headed back.” Aman had said after while..“Where is Yash?” 

It had been midnight then, exactly 12:07am. Kartik would never forget the time. 

Kartik had been disappointed to hear that. He enjoyed Aman’s company. But there was always tomorrow, was there not? 

“Phone deh.” he demanded holding out his hand.

“Kyun?” asked Aman. But he said it with a half smile. He was already reaching into his pockets.

“Number. We should hang out more. You’re alright, for a science kid.”

“Likewise for an arts student.”

Aman handed him his phone and Kartik marvelled at the amount of trust in the gesture. He said as much to Aman.

“You’re too trusting. For all you know,” he said. “This could be an elaborate ploy to either steal your phone, your identity or…”

“Says the man who did not know the difference between gelato and ice cream. You’re probably not capable of anything that elaborate. My phone and my identity, I think, are in safe hands.”

“Chutiya.” said Kartik. But somehow Aman’s words had warmed him.

As he finished saving his number on Aman’s phone he noticed a message come up in his notifications. It was from Yash.

_ Took ur bike.  _ It said.  _ Taking Preeti to a hotel. Will return tomorrow. I promise. _

“I have some good news,” Kartik had said. “And some bad news.”

Aman had looked at him puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“Good news, I know where Yash went. Bad news he took your bike.”

He showed Aman the notification on his phone. The other man scowled. 

“Saale kutte kamine. Maachod.” Aman cursed. “All he’s been talking about is Devika, Devika, Devika and now he’s gone off with some Preeti. Who the fuck is Preeti?”

“Tall girl, heels, black dress, curly hair. She was hanging around Yash for a bit. I’m surprised you didn’t notice.”

Aman seemed abashed for a second. A year later Aman would admit he had been too busy staring at Kartik’s smile to care about his roommate. A scowl had returned to his face. Kartik had to admit there was something enticing about his anger.

“How the fuck am I going to get to my dorm? What does he expect me to do? Fucking walk the whole way?”

“I’ll call an Ola.”

“No, it’s okay.” said Aman. “I’ll figure something out.”

“I insist,” said Kartik. “No paybacks, you’re my friend now.”

At exactly 12:37am they were siiting in the back of the Ola. Aman was looking at Kartik with those brilliant eyes of his again. As much as Kartik loved his eyes, he found them disconcerting.

“What is it?” asked Kartik.

“The tattoo on your neck,” said Aman. “I didn't notice it before.”

The upside down triangle. Self-consciously Kartik’s hand went to the tattoo. “I got it when I moved out.”

Not many people knew the significance. The ones who did...

“I like it,” said Aman. That was all he said. But his silence spoke louder than his words.

Kartik met his eyes then, searching for a sign. And it came in the form of Aman’s lips. Neither of them knew who initiated it. Neither of them particularly cared. All Kartik could feel were Aman’s lips, slightly chapped, and tasted a little like salt. All he could feel was Aman’s body against his. Aman’s hands sliding up his sweater, tracing the bareskin in his stomach. 

When they finally did pull away it was because the driver had announced (loudly and angrily but that was to be expected) for them to get out. Their destination had arrived. Reluctantly Aman pulled away from Kartik and got out of the cab. 

Kartik stayed glued to the spot. He had not expected much. He was content with what he had gotten, but at the same time he wanted more.

“Aren’t you coming?” Aman asked.

Kartik knew where this was leading to. Where things like this always led to. That was the thing about loving someone you were not supposed to. Any moment could be your last. 

“Yash…?” he started.   
  
“He won’t be back until morning, trust me on that.”

That had been all the invitation Kartik needed. As he went into Aman’s dorm. As he kissed him again. As he discarded his comfort sweater. As he lay in Aman’s bed, in his arms. Only one thing was one his mind. He wished it would last more than one night. 

  
  


_ Hell was the journey  _

_ but it brought me heaven _

Neither of them had known then that in years to come they would still be in each other’s arms. Hearing each others voices. Neither of them knew it then but it would still be them. It would always be them. Even when the whole world was against them they would not falter. 

Who would have thought? They often said to each other. That a one night stand under a blue and purple pink sky would turn into a future filled with more colour than the human eye could see.

_ And isn't it just so pretty to think _

_ All along there was some _

_ Invisible string _

_ Tying you to me? _

  
  



	2. moodbooard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bc I have decided to make a moodboard for the next fic in this series I thought it would a good idea to make one for every fic in this series so far <3

Here's the one for blues and purple pink skies.

**Author's Note:**

> Even though I say my forte is tragedy + beauty (or alternatively being a dickhead + comedian) I find that I enjoy writing fluffy shit like this the most.


End file.
